


Red

by GreyLiliy



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Amputation, Body Horror, Cosmic Rust, Gen, Red Rust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a solo mission, Smokescreen finds more than he can handle between two very different shades of red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I wanted to draw something a little more creepy for the occasion, but I don’t think I’ll have time. So I tried to squeeze in a fic instead (though it turned out a little more fluffy than creepy by the end there…) :3
> 
> Also, I’m pretty sure this is my first time tackling anything from Prime, which is funny b/c I haven’t seen it in a while, and I still haven’t seen anything past Wrecker Princess Miko (as the fans dubbed it XD).
> 
> Whatevs. Happy Halloween everyone. :D

Smokescreen slid down the ramp of the cave, his door-wings flat against his back to avoid knocking into the roof of the stout tunnel. He used the wall as leverage as he attempted to stay upright in the dark space on such a steep path. Smokescreen turned on his headlights when he hit the bottom of the incline, and aimed it at the open space stretching out in front of him.

The steep tunnel he’d come in through fed out into a larger cave that split into a few offshoots in the distance. Smokescreen had to duck and crouch to stay upright and avoid hitting the ceiling, but it wasn’t miserable. He had a mission to complete, so a little discomfort was nothing!

Smokescreen smiled to himself as he passed rock and slick surfaces. They’d trusted him with a solo mission, and there was no way he was going to screw this up! Normally partnering up was the way to go, but with everyone who could possibly fit in the cave on patrol, Ratchet had no one else to send.

"It should be okay," Ratchet had said, pulling up the screen. "You’re investigating a small blip on the screen. Not even sure what’s there, but it’s reading Cybertronian. Doubt the ‘Cons’ll be interested, but if you see any—"

"I’ll comm in for a bridge," Smokescreen said. He knocked his knuckles into the side of Ratchet’s arm along the red stripe. Smokescreen chuckled, and smiled at the older ‘bot. "Don’t worry, Ratchet. I know what to do."

"You better, kid," Ratchet said, flicking on the ground bridge control.

Smokescreen straightened out when the rock corridor opened into a larger area. Massive stalactites hung from the ceiling above his head, and they glowed an earthy clay red when his light brushed across them. The sound of dripping water was in the background, and Smokescreen hummed over it as he pushed forward. The signal was coming from ahead.

A rock tipped in the background, a splash of water.

Smokescreen whirled around on his heels, guns armed and buzzing. His door-wings stood straight up, the sensitive panels reading the air. He turned his headlights up to their high beams, coating the area in light. He took a few careful steps back looking around and—nothing.

He lowered his weapon, and swapped his hand back out when everything looked all clear. Smokescreen bit the side of his lip, as the dark cave loomed just beyond the edge of his headlight’s spread.

His feet moved a few steps faster as he approached the signal. Smokescreen would pick it up, and then get the pit out of dodge.

Smokescreen found the source of the anomaly wedged in the corner of an outcropping. He found a small metal container shoved between two rocks. Bits of red colored rust lined the edges, sinking into the indents of Cybertronian script.

The young ‘bot went over to the nearest slender up shooting of stalagmite, and braced his foot on the bottom. He kicked hard and snapped off the thin piece from the ground. Walking back to the container, Smokescreen wedged the rock between the container and it’s bed, and pried it loose. It popped free, and landed on the ground with a heavy clang, knocking off the top. It spun once before dropping on its side.

Smokescreen rubbed his fingers together, and tipped over the lid with the edge of the stalagmite. He narrowed his eyes as he looked inside.

He screamed when the surge of electricity spread from the back of his neck to every inch of his body.

* * *

Smokescreen’s optics flickered on. The world was a fog of pain, slowly clearing. The sight above him was black, save for a moving light source to the side. Smokescreen was on his back, and his arms were underneath him. He turned his head, and frowned when his arms were caught on something.

"Don’t bother," a voice sounded, smug and drawled. "Your hands are tied, and your comm’s been disabled, little bot."

"Knock Out?" Smokescreen managed. He turned his head enough to see the bright red paint reflected in the light of the other sport car’s headlights. Knock Out’s staff was wedged between two rocks and sparked at the lit top. Smokescreen scrunched his face, and tried to focus through the buzz dancing in his processor. "What?"

The Decepticon shrugged, smirking at him. He held a tiny glass vial of something green between his fingers in the light. The silver container was on the ground still, empty. Smokescreen looked at the bottle again, and noticed the ancient script written on the bottle. He scooted back from the Decepticon, and tried to sit up to get to his feet.

"Now, now, no sense in that," Knock Out said. He slammed his heel into Smokescreen’s back, just between the door-wings, rolling the younger ‘bot onto his stomach. Smokescreen yelped, and growled when Knock Out dragged his foot back to slam down again on Smokescreen’s bound wrists. Knock Out held up the vial again, one leg propped on the fallen Autobot. "You have found a nasty little trinket here, I must say. This—"

"Cosmic Rust," Smokescreen said, interrupting the vain ‘Con. Smokescreen knew his optics were wide and staring. But Knock Out was holding it so _casually._

Knock Out stared—in shock, then irritation—at Smokescreen, and then shifted his gaze over to the bottle. He huffed, putting a hand on his hip. “Who told you spoilers, little bot?”

"I read the bottle," Smokescreen hissed. "The rust on its container was a bit of a clue, too."

"Well, I guess not all Autobots have to be idiots," Knock Out said, shrugging. "Still, if you know what it is, than you must also know what it does."

"Yeah, and if you know what’s good for everybody—you’ll get rid of that," Smokescreen said. He felt his systems start to heat up as that tiny vile remained close in Knock Out’s sharp fingers. "You’re a doc. You’ve got to agree."

"Why waste such a perfect little weapon?" Knock Out asked. He knelt down, jamming his knee into Smokescreen’s back. He leaned over, and put the vile directly in Smokescreen’s line of sight. "One drop of this, and I’ll be short an annoying little scout. I’m still a little peeved that you’re in the competition for nicest finish. It’d be nice to eliminate that, don’t you think?"

"If you think you can infect me without catching it yourself," Smokescreen said. He remained perfectly still, scared to startle Knock Out into dropping the glass. "Cosmic Rust is highly contagious."

"I know that," Knock Out hissed. He grabbed side of Smokescreen’s face, sharp fingertips scratching the metal, and shoved the scout’s face into the rock floor. "I know the symptoms of this better than  _you_. I’m the doctor here! You said it yourself.”

"Then you should destroy it," Smokescreen grit out best he was able with his face smashed into the rock. Knock Out’s grip tightened, and he grunted. "Or do you want to kill everyone? You’ll never be able to control that if there’s a break out and you know it!"

"Oh, shut up," Knock Out said. He flipped the vile over it, and hid it in his fist. Knock Out yanked Smokescreen’s head back, and tapped the tip of his finger against the scout’s chevron. "I’m more curious on what  _you_  were planning to do with this. After all, I followed  _you_  down here and caught _you_  digging it up.”

"I followed an unknown signal, and then wanted to confirm what I’d found when I saw the rust on the container," Smokescreen said. He had nothing to hide or protect on this mission. "Before I could even decide what to do, you knocked me out."

"Well, that is where I got my name," Knock Out shrugged. He rolled his knee back and forth over the stasis cuffs that held Smokescreen’s arms. He opened his palm and considered the tiny vile. "Destroy it, huh? I think perhaps…I won’t. Unlike you, I know the antidote to this."

Smokescreen dug his knee into the ground, and braced. The red ‘Con was heavy on his back, but Smokescreen was confident he could get him off. He might have to risk startling Knock Out, bottle breaking or not.

"So I think I’ll take my chances," Knock Out chuckled. He put his thumb near the tip of the vile—

It beeped.

Knock Out and Smokescreen both turned their heads toward the tiny cylinder. A small red light blinked near the opening on the darker black lid. A second beep sounded, followed by a second light halfway around the lid.

"Frag," Knock Out said in time with the third beep.

* * *

Everything was red.

Smokescreen hissed, scraping at his plating as the red dust filling the air clung to his armor. The stasis cuff hanging from one hand, slipped off and exploded into a puff of red smoke as it hit the ground. Smokescreen whined, shaking as it covered his legs. There was red  _everywhere._ The rust dissolved on contact, smoldering away at his paint. He wiped at it, furiously trying to get it  _off._

"Don’t do that!" Knock Out screamed, a foot away. His red paint was splotched with the orange brown rust and he held his hands out. "You’re making it spread faster! Stop panicking and for the love Primus stop touching it!"

Smokescreen’s inner systems cycled at top speed as the red crawled against his blue paint. He froze in place and the rust stilled. It still tingled, but it moved less. A step vs a run. Smokescreen looked at Knock Out. “You said you had an antidote.”

It was not a question.

"I know how to make one,"Knock Out said, his hand shaking as he looked at it. The Rust had completely coated the hand that had held the vial. It snaked up his arm, clinging to every surface it could get. "But I’m short a hand, and they’re never going to let me step foot on that ship if I’m infected with Cosmic Rust. I’m going to need you to cooperate."

"Turn my Comm back on. I’ll get help from Ratchet," Smokescreen said. He shivered, the dark of the cave weighing down on him as much as the rust he could feel seeping inside him. "He’ll help."

"And take the chance of you getting ground-bridged out of here and leave me to rot? Never!" Knock Out snarled. He shoved his hand hard into the unprepared Smokescreen’s left headlight, shattering the glass and spreading the rust. Smokescreen cried out, and dropped to his knees, hands groping for the damaged area. It hissed with the bubbling of active rust. "You’re going to do as I say brat, or I make  _sure_  that spreads faster on you first!”

Smokescreen hit his head hard into the ground to distract himself from the pain. He held his hands out so he wouldn’t touch the rust. After a few moments, the sizzling stopped and it stilled. No touch. No spread.

_Do not touch._

"You really think, that I’m going to leave you down here infected?" Smokescreen asked, wheezing through the pain. He pressed his hands flat on the ground and willed himself not to touch the rust eating away at him. Or stare at the red spots spreading on the back of his hands. "Even, even if you just didn’t trust me—Do you really think I’m going to leave you here, infected, so that when your buddies come looking for you that they stumble up on a weapon that dangerous? Get fragged, Knock Out."

"Time’s ticking, Autobot. Are you going to cooperate or not?" Knock Out said.

Smokescreen pushed up on his knees, ignoring the new sizzling noise as the rust ate at his armor from the contact. He pointed at his head where his comm lines were hopefully still clean and unaffected. “You’ve got a good hand. Fix this and let me call Ratchet, or we’re both going to die down here.”

"You brat!" Knock Out yelled. He clenched his hands into fists, snarling at Smokescreen. "You don’t know the first—"

Knock Out’s hand fell off.

The rust covered appendage detached from the wrist, a hissing wave of red smoke filling the air from both his wrist, and the plop of fingers and knuckles that crashed into the ground. Smokescreen nearly purged his tank from the sudden wave of nausea that came from his own churning insides and the amputated limb. The sound of tiny red molecules resting on his metal skin intensified, hissing in his audio input.

"Or perhaps," Knock Out said, his optics wide and fixed on the smoldering stub where his hand used to be. Smokescreen’s wings flattened against his back, and he shivered as Knock out continued. "I should fix your comm link, and let you call Ratchet."

* * *

Smokescreen had never heard Ratchet go completely silent before.

It scared him more than Knock Out’s lost hand. The older medic was so quiet, that Smokescreen was terrified the line had disconnected. Smokescreen had hesitantly called his name again before Ratchet told him to “Hold on tight” and cut the line.

That had been ten minutes ago.

When the ground bridge opened up, to reveal Ratchet wearing a quarantine suit, Smokescreen really wished he could have been more excited. But he found it difficult when Knock Out was leaned against him, wheezing heavily as his insides struggled to pump energon through dissolving conduit. When Knock Out’s entire left side had dropped away from the waist up.

Cosmic rust could do a lot of damage in ten minutes.

Smokescreen himself was missing a door-wing, his leg, and nearly all of his chest at this point. The two of them had fallen against each other, and dared not move lest they make it worse. Smokescreen couldn’t see it, but he could also feel the rust crawling along the side of his face. The tendrils of it licked at his right optic, and dripped down Smokescreen’s cheek like human tears.

"By the Allspark," Ratchet said, something devastated in his voice that cut through Smokescreen faster than his armor dropping off. Ratchet shouldn’t sound like that. Smokescreen tried to talk, but nothing came out. He could only watch as Ratchet dropped his medical pack next to his side side. Ratchet touched the clean side of his face with a gloved hand and soothed. "I’m here kid, I’m here."

* * *

Ratchet couldn’t save his optic.

Smokescreen nested his head in his arms as he leaned on a crate, watching the television on the human’s little platform absently. The Corrostop solution Ratchet had dug out of storage killed the Cosmic Rust on contact. After treating Smokescreen and Knock Out, he synthesized another batch to coat the cave just in case and give them both a third coat from the head down and on every bolt and nut he could find. Smokescreen and Knock Out were rust free, and their armor was the shiniest it’d ever been in their lives.

What was left of it.

Ratchet had barely scrounged up enough armor pieces scavenged from Vehicons to fit into patches and covers for Smokescreen’s and Knock Out’s exposed vitals, let alone format new limbs. But that wasn’t as bad as it could have been—they were both alive. And for that, Smokescreen and Knock Out were both grateful.

Though even Smokescreen had to whine in complaint when Ratchet had to amputate his remaining door-wing.

It had mostly survived, but it was damaged so heavily that it was dead weight that threw off his balance. It was a hindrance, and Ratchet said it had to go. Firmly, but with regret. Off it went, and Smokescreen’s back felt too light. He still had trouble with knocking into things without his door-wings.

Though part of that was because Smokescreen had yet to get used to his new crutch to replace his missing leg.

"Do we really have to watch this slag?" Knock Out said, lounging behind Smokescreen. They had come to a unanimous decision that the Decepticons wouldn’t take Knock Out back in his current condition. His outer shell was more in tact than Smokescreen’s, if you ignored the missing right side of his torso and arm, but his insides were devastated. Ratchet was still in the middle of replacing the steadily failing elements when he could new parts. So they were stuck with Doc Knock. "There has to be something better on."

"Knock yourself out," Smokescreen said, tossing the remote behind him.

"Ha ha," Knock Out said. He caught the remote and clicked it to the next channel. "Like I haven’t heard  _that_  pun once a day since I got to this kiddie playground.”

"And do  _I_ need to remind you that we could have just dropped you in a back storage room. Again?” Ratchet said, monitoring the other Autobots on patrol. He worked on leaving the two to their own devices.

Knock Out stopped the channel on a racing track, and tossed the remote back on the platform. “Spare me.”

"I thought that’s what we did," Smokescreen said, looking over his shoulder with a cheeky grin.

Knock Out snorted, and launched forward, grabbing Smokescreen in a headlock. He pulled him back off his crate and held him there against Knock Out’s side like Miko did to Jack once in a while. Smokescreen was too busy laughing to struggle. Knock Out snorted. “I hope you know what a brat you are.”

"Yeah," Smokescreen said, squirming out of Knock Out’s grips. "As long as you know what a snob you are."

"Pest," Knock Out said. He glanced down at his arm and scowled at the damage he’d caused to his own paint. He held it out to Smokescreen without taking his optics off the race on the television. "Buff out that scratch you just caused."

Smokescreen snorted, but picked up the polishing cloth anyway. He’d learned in the past few days it’s easier to just do it. Saved everyone the trouble. Smokescreen rubbed at the blue finish, smoothing it out.

He didn’t blame Knock Out for borrowing his extra paint.

Smokescreen never wanted to see the color red again, either.


End file.
